The Way We Fall

Chapter 62 (Roche)

Roche went to bed stiff and sore from the match with Harold. She'd watched him for days now, but he'd been picture perfect. Nothing had given him away apart from his small lapse in control during the fight today.

As Verita had requested, Roche had kept herself scarce, researching possible enchantments that could turn a man's mind against him, against his loved ones, or just against everyone in general. It was useless. All of those enchantments seemed to require a physical object of some sort to continue the enchantment, but Roche saw nothing of the sort during her skirmish with the head knight.

No, she'd felt the inkblood enchantment cast upon his very skin. There was no mind control enchantment like that. She'd flipped through the book Verita had given her before going to bed, but sleep had dragged her away before she could find anything meaningful.

She was awoken not much later by a ghostly scream that thrummed through her blood.

"WAKE!"

"You've got to be kidding me." Roche grumbled into her pillow. Her heart was racing, like she'd woken straight from a nightmare. After a few moments, she was ready to dismiss her inkblood as a phony and go back to bed when she was flattened back against her bed by waves of inkblood washing over her.

Roche nearly vomited right there. She rolled out of her bed and stumbled to her feet. The inkblood felt wrong, just like Sir Harold had. Her vision blurred as she staggered out of the library. It was exploding outwards from a source. She had to find out what it was.

The halls of the castle were too dark and quiet. It would be impossible to see if not for the thin beams of moonlight streaming through the windows. Roche pressed against the walls, tucking herself into the shadows. The rumble of boots echoed down the endless corridor, and a squadron of patrolling guards turned into the hallway.

Roche chewed her lip, pressing deeper into the shadows. It was lucky they were going the other way. She was a fool for even getting up to investigate, it was impossible for an inkblood to get past all the patrols.

Still, she could feel the press of Sir Harold's inkblood burning brighter and brighter by the minute. She could feel he was close. She closed her eyes, trying to pinpoint exactly where the nauseating sensation was coming from. It was further than the infirmary, but not as far as the beach. It was close to there though, just overlooking the pale sand.

Roche's eyes popped open as she realised just whose chambers overlooked the crashing waves.

"Tigris!" Roche gasped, breaking into a sprint. Her own inkblood pulsed in confirmation.

The race over to the princess' chambers felt endless. Her mind was a blur. She skidded to a stop at the end of the hallway. There, she could see a shadowy figure looming over two crumpled guards. His hands were on the door.

Roche had her hand extended, a word bubbling in her mind before she could stop herself.

Aukret!

Inkblood spewed from her hand like a geyser, hurtling straight for the man crouched in front of the princess' chambers.

The cloaked assailant went flying. His body smacked against the wall opposite to the princess' doors. Somewhere down the hall, a patrol of guards shouted in alarm at the crash.

The assailant climbed to his feet dazedly, turning to glare at her. Unmistakable green eyes glinted resentfully at her in the dark, promising malice. Roche turned and fled as she heard the patrol turn the bend, relief blooming in her chest.

Hopefully, the patrols would arrest Harold without too much of a fuss.

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"So he just... disappeared?" the king asked, staring at the unconscious knights who'd been guarding his daughter. The patrol leader nodded solemnly.